Harold Lamb

“ In silence Durforth considered her, until a flush mantled her cheeks and his beard bristled in a wide smile.
“So! I am no wizard like Shatong the shaman—” he nodded at the Ostiak who was tapping on a drum between his knees, upon a white horsehide—“yet can I read your mind. You fear me, you have no faith in me. A witless boy follows the track of your sled through the wilderness, and it is your thought that if he rushes in upon us here he will be slain, which, indeed is most true. ”

“ Into Joan's whirling thoughts came memories of childhood tales, of werewolves that took the form and semblance of men by day and turned to beasts at nightfall, of beasts that ran to join the unhallowed company of the witches' sabbath.
“How did you gain this power over the savages?” she whispered, fearful of hearing what was in her mind.
Durforth's face seemed to change, and the fire in his brown eyes died down.
“Power?” He waxed thoughtful. “Why, I can speak with them. Power springs always from wealth, because it feeds the desire of men. ”

“ Kyrger lost no time in putting the reindeer into the leather traces, tying the guiding thong attached to their off horns to the hand bar of the sledge. Then he beckoned Thorne who discovered that the savage had picked up a pair of the wooden skates dropped by one of the Ostiaks. They were shorter than the Samoyed's and heavier, and Kyrger bound them firmly to Thorne's boots.
Then he led the outlander to the rear of the sledge and made him put his hands on the waist-high bar at the back.
“Thus,” he murmured to himself, “we will go as swiftly as the white pigeon flying before the wind. ”